Face Me
by KyMerch
Summary: "I can't see her face. I dream about her every time I close my eyes. I see her, and I chase her, but I can never see her face," he drops his head, "I'm afraid I'm going to forget her altogether."


_I got this idea from the Florence + The Machine song Only If For A Night_, _specifically the line 'I had a dream of my old school, and she was there all pink and gold and glittering. I threw my arms around her legs, came to weeping.' I wanted to paint a picture of Neal dreaming of Kate and waking heart broken. _

_Also, the Mario Andretti quote 'You don't need the ignition in the car to keep the thrill of the race alive. You just have to keep in touch with your pit crew' and the advice, give or take the actually phrasing, was borrowed from an episode of Home Improvement. _

_Enjoy._

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><p>The apartment was flooded in dank light, hazy and sleepy. Neal was laid out on the bed, staring into the doorway where Kate stood as still as a statue. He was naked and so was she, her bare back a glistening sheen of preparation. He called to her softly, but she didn't respond. He expected her to turn to him, to see those bright blue orbs light with that beautiful smile that illuminated her face. Kate kept still, not even the slightest movement as she breathed, her fingers didn't twitch, no shift of weight. He pulled himself slowly from the bed, standing silently for a moment when both his feet connected with the floor, just watching her. He stepped forward now less than a foot away. "Kate?" he called again reaching for her hand.<p>

Just before he could touch her she was moving swiftly over the threshold. He tried to get a glimpse of her face as she turned right out the door but it was concealed by the long brown locks cascading around her head and shoulders. He tried to run after her but found that his feet wouldn't move the way he wanted them too. They were slow and heavy like he was standing in clay. He went down the hallway as fast as he could and caught her standing, still naked, in front of the patio door. "Kate?" She lifted the handle and slid it open just enough for her to slip through. "Talk to me, please," he begged.

By the time he got to her she was on the patio gliding to the rails. He watched in awe-struck terror as she climbed them and stood just as still and erect as she had before, still not looking at him or responding to her name. Slowly she lifted one foot and held it out before her, and then she sent herself over the edge without any sign of hesitation in her movements. Neal screamed for her and watched as she fell to the sidewalk like a ragdoll, limp and lifeless, as if a little girl had dropped her from the top bunk. Neal took a step forward to lean over the railing and suddenly he was watching her from the sidewalk. She stood in one fluid motion and stared into the street as though she was waiting for something.

He's afraid of her now. He doesn't want to call out or try to grab her for fear that she'll run again, so he stands back for a while and watches her. She's perched, unmoving on the edge of the curb, toes curled over it as if to steady her balance. People are walking around her as if they know she's there without actually acknowledging her presence. No one bumps into her as they move busily down the sidewalk, no one curses at her for standing in the way. A man comes and stands beside her to hail a cab. His raised arm is inches from her face and neither of the notice or seems to care. He steps directly in front of her almost brushing her breast with his elbow as he climbs in and the only thing that moves as it speeds away is her hair as it whips with the wind it's created.

Then without warning she steps off the curb and into the hectic streets. She's slow and methodical as she crosses, missing every bus, cab and bike as she goes, or maybe they're missing her. He hears his name called calmly from across the street and steps out in front of a bus immediately, but, just like Kate, they pass each other without incident.

When he reaches the other side he stands behind her, so close he can see his breathe whipping her hair. He raises a cautious hand to her shoulder and ghosts it over the goose bumped flesh. This exacts no reaction from her, so with soft measure he lands it lightly on her arm. She's warm and soft, just like he remembered. He whispers her name in her ear and tells her how much he misses her. "Neal." She says in her sweet, bedroom voice, "Neal." He wraps his fingers gently around her arm and starts to turn her around, so eager to lay eyes on her beautiful visage one more time. He pulls his eyes up from her legs, to her torso and just as she starts to lift her face to him, coyly brushing a loose strand back from her face, she vanishes. Neal's hand is left empty and still warm. He looks at the ground then to his hand, and all around him. He shouts her name, but she can't hear it. She's gone and he can't find her.

Peter's been watching Neal, who was asleep at his desk on a stack of manila file folders, for a while. The kid was twitchy, his body jolted slightly every now and then, like a dog dreaming that he's running. There's a period where he's calm and his face doesn't contort with a sad frown. He looks peaceful, happy. He's got this subtle look on his face, a small smile barely tweaking the corners of his mouth. He recognizes the look; he's seen it hundreds of times on the tapes of Neal's visits from Kate. Just before she would come into the room he would sit there with that same look and when she would enter and he laid eyes on her for the first time in a long time he would light up like Peter's never seen before.

Peter watched, waiting for that smile to break open, but instead Neal's brow furrowed and that frown reappeared. Then Neal wakes with a start, he looks wrecked, and Peter's heart breaks for him because he knows that Neal thought the dream was reality, and that it always hurts when you're abruptly thrown back into real life.

Peter stands in the door way of his office for a moment watching Neal wipe the tears from his face, attempting to collect himself, "How was your nap?" Peter asked light heartedly. Neal throws on a fake smile and just laughs it off. "Come on, I'll give you a ride, Caffery."

The car ride is uncomfortably silent, maybe not for Neal, but Peter. He knows that Neal is upset, that something in that dream of Kate really bothered him, but he doesn't know if Neal wants to talk about it. So Peter doesn't say much and Neal doesn't say much and they ride like this until they pull up in front of June's home. Neal opens the door and has one foot on the concrete when Peter speaks up, "Neal, if something's the matter, if something's upsetting you, you can talk to me about it." Peter held his breath as he waited for Neal to react. Without facing him Neal laughed and said, "What are you getting at, Peter?" Peter debated touching Neal's shoulder or back by means of comforting him, he declined the idea.

Then it was Neal's turn to speak up, "I can't see her face. I dream about her every time I close my eyes. I see her, and I chase her, but I can never see her face," he drops his head, "I'm afraid I'm going to forget her altogether." Peter clasps his shoulder and gives him a reassuring squeeze, "You don't need the ignition in the car to keep the thrill of the race alive. You just have to keep in touch with your pit crew." Neal huffed and shook his head, "What's that supposed to mean?" "You can keep her alive, Neal. You've got to talk about her, share your memories with people. You can start with me."

So he talked about her. He talked about her hair, the specific color of shimmering brown, about the depth of her blue eyes. He went on about the way his hand felt just right in the curve of her hip, or how he loved to kiss her shoulders. He told stories about dates and intimate moments, nights in the dark, in the heat of blackouts. He told him how he wanted to have children with her; he wanted to have a family with her. He talked about how much he missed her, and how much he wished he could've turned back time or done something different to save her from the plane. He cried, and he laughed and he yelled, he talked himself horse and exhausted, and Peter listened.

She's warm and soft, just like he remembered. He whispers her name in her ear and tells her how much he misses her. "Neal." She says in her sweet, bedroom voice, "Neal." He wraps his fingers gently around her arm and starts to turn her around, so eager to lay eyes on her beautiful visage one more time. He pulls his eyes up from her legs, to her torso and just as she starts to lift her face to him, coyly brushing a loose strand back, he kisses her cheek. She looks at him full on, her face round and vibrant and Neal smiles like he's never smiled before. He touches her shoulders, her hips, his hands all over her, but he never took his eyes off of her face.


End file.
